


Why We Fight

by shamelessnameless



Series: Keep My Shirt [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:14:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6120602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamelessnameless/pseuds/shamelessnameless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were moments when Marco sincerely thanked whatever higher powers existed that between the two of them he was the one who attracted more injuries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why We Fight

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the game against Georgia in November 2015.

Marco sat down carefully next to Mario on the plane. Mario was dead to the world, on painkillers, with his mouth hanging upon while he noisily struggled to draw a breath through his stuffed nose. There were dark smudges under his eyes and even in his sleep his fingers were gripping the ring on his left hand hard. 

Marco knew he wouldn’t be able to touch him for a few more hours, not until after touchdown and check-in in their hotel in Leipzig. He tore open the cover of his blanket and placed it over the one Mario was already huddled under, trying to settle as quietly as he could. 

He started to try and read a magazine, not wanting to fall asleep in case Mario needed anything. The cabin lights were dimmed and the mood quite sombre given their loss against Georgia. Most of the other guys were resting or watching some movies with their headphones on. Marco would have loved to touch Mario’s hand, ease the grip he had on his ring, but he had left the seat between them free on purpose and he knew that they were not safe from prying eyes. Any comfort would have to wait until after he could close and lock the door to Mario’s hotel room behind them.

They hit a bit of turbulence halfway through their flight. Mario woke up because of it, looking and blinking tiredly at Marco who was watching him calmly. “Just a bit of a rough patch,” Marco whispered, “go back to sleep.” Mario shifted painfully slow, clearly trying to move his body as little as possible. “Think I need to pee,” he mumbled, trying to reach for his seatbelt. “Wait till the seatbelt sign is switched off, ok?” Marco said. Between the two of them he was by far the more angsty flyer. “You don’t need to stumble or fall because of this stupid plane shaking around,” he added. 

Mario nodded and leaned his head back at his seat. He turned to look at Marco. His eyes were red and strained, mouth trembling a tiny bit and Marco ached to touch him and pull him close. He slouched down a bit more in his seat, stretching his legs and gently pressing his foot against Mario’s left leg. “Just another hour,” he said pitching his voice as low as possible, “and then it’s just a short drive with the bus and you can lie down. I’ll wait for a bit and sneak in and take care of you, yeah?” Mario was still watching him tiredly and he gave Marco a tiny smile in acknowledgement, before closing his eyes again, the need to use the washroom clearly loosing to his exhaustion. 

They landed some time later, jostling with their luggage and piling into the bus. Andre had thrown his arm over Mario’s shoulder and was talking to him, taking the seat next to him. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence but Marco was annoyed nonetheless. He could see how terribly exhausted his boyfriend was, knew that the others didn’t see it as clearly as Marco. It wasn’t just the physical pain that was weighing on Mario; Marco knew that the doctors had taken care of that as well as possible. 

It was much more an emotional exhaustion that Mario would try to downplay in the coming weeks, something which existence he would refuse to acknowledge. It was a typical pattern whenever he got injured and usually ended with him crying to Marco on the phone or in person, tiring himself out with sobbing until he had no tears left. Marco would then start to pick up the pieces and it was always painful and stressful to both of them. It hadn’t been as bad when he first started playing for Bayern but in the years since even a minor injury that had Mario missing not more than one game meant the end of the world to him. 

Marco knew that is was because of the continuing distrust in his abilities in general and also due to Mario’s mostly irrational fear that any pause was costing him not only a starting place but his fitness or rhythm. It was nothing that Marco could solve by being just there for him but being there for him usually made it easier for Mario to handle his injuries. 

There were moments when Marco sincerely thanked whatever higher powers existed that between the two of them he was the one who attracted more injuries. 

By the time they reached the hotel Mario’s discomfort would have been obvious to anyone looking at him for longer than a moment. Marco itched to get him into bed, let him rest his head on top of Marco’s chest the way he liked to do when he needed some comfort. Bierhoff managed the check-in while the others huddled together in small groups. Andre and Mario were joined by some of the other younger players while Marco himself chose to step into Mats’ orbit who was the only one knowing about them apart from Thomas (and thanks to Marco’s need to talk with someone once he got drunk he knew about them quite well). Mats was studying Marco for a moment then shifting slightly in order to press their shoulders together briefly. Marco smiled weakly at him. 

He was handed a key card a moment later, told to be at breakfast by eight and then he was squeezing in the elevator along with Andre’s and Mario’s group. Mario was leaning against the elevator walls, starting badly, face grimacing in discomfort by the sudden movement when Andre jostled his shoulder once they reached his floor. Marco bit back angry words and rode up to his own floor in silence. He unlocked the door, threw his bag on the bed and took a quick shower. He wrote Mario a short text asking if he could come down, receiving a simple confirmation a moment later.

They were used to this; sneaking around whenever they were in the same team hotel, meeting each other late in their rooms and leaving early in the morning. It wasn’t great and Mario’s reluctance to get out of bed in the mornings meant that Marco was mostly doing the sneaking but it was better than nothing.

Mario opened the door after Marco knocked and Marco shoved him back inside, hugging him close once the door was locked and closed behind them. Mario melted against him, letting Marco take his weight, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Let’s get you into bed,” Marco whispered, carefully walking Mario backwards towards the bed.

“Marco,” Mario said and he sounded weak and aching. Marco shushed him while laying him down, reaching up to stroke through his hair. “Shh, just relax. Do you need food or water?” Mario shook his head and Marco got into bed with him, cradling him close. Mario breathed in deeply once his head rested on Marco’s chest and Marco switched on the TV for some white noise while he slowly petted Mario’s hair. Mario fell asleep quickly and Marco followed not much later.

He was woken up by Mario struggling out of his hold, breath sobbing in and out of him. He didn’t seem to be aware of his surroundings, pushing against Marco’s belly with one hand to level himself up. “Hey, hey, hey,” Marco said while he reached for him and took a hold of his biceps, “Mario, what’s wrong? What do you need?” Mario made a whimpering sound and Marco flicked the light on quickly while he kept a hand on Mario’s arm to keep him from backing off further. The light revealed Mario’s wide panicked eyes, his trembling mouth and sweaty face. “Mario?” Marco said again when Mario simply stared at him. “Nightmare,” Mario managed to say after a few more tense moments and then he collapsed forward into Marco’s arms. “Want to talk about it?” Marco asked while lowering them back down. Mario shook his head, clutching Marco’s shirt in his hands. He was trembling slightly. “Let’s get you out of that shirt,” Marco said after stroking down Mario’s sweat-soaked back. Mario made a soft protesting sound when Marco tried to get him to undress, eyes drooping already again and Marco had a hard time levelling him back up to get him out of his shirt. “Hey, help me out a bit,” he told Mario and Mario weakly lifted his arm, when Marco tugged at him. 

“Please,” he said, hands reaching out to touch Marco’s neck. Marco stroked down the blue tape Mario was wearing, shushing him again. “What please?” he asked and Mario scrambled up in his lap, arms wrapping around Marco’s neck tighter. “Please,” he said and Marco was at a loss. He didn’t say anything but used Mario’s discarded shirt to towel him dry and then tugged the blanket up around Mario’s hips. Mario had sunk into him in a position that couldn’t be comfortable, his back bowed and Marco sat up straighter before hugging Mario closer to him, stroking down his back. Mario calmed down slowly, turning his head after a few minutes to press a kiss right under Marco’s earlobe. He left his lips there, breathing in deeply and Marco turned his own head to gently asked him if he was feeling better.

“Yeah,” Mario said, “sorry for waking you.” “Shut up,” Marco said and took Mario’s face in his hands. Mario straightened up and they looked at each other for a moment. “You have nothing to apologize for,” Marco said softly, watching Mario and Mario shrugged his shoulder. “You can’t be comfortable like this,” Marco said and Mario shrugged again, pressing closer instead of laying back down. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” Marco said and Mario shuddered against him, making himself smaller and oh. “Need me to take care of you?” Marco said next and Mario exhaled in a whoosh against his neck, body relaxing. “Give me a colour,” Marco said and Mario exhaled a breathless “green” against him. 

They had a fluent power structure within their relationship. It wasn’t just confined to bed, which was something that used to amaze Marco before he went ahead and did actually google some things; it was something broader, vastly more undefined, infinite in its reach.

It had started in the weeks during which Mario had known that we would be leaving Dortmund but hadn’t told Marco yet; the weeks that Marco tried to never bring up anymore because they upset the very foundation of their relationship in a way that Marco could never again justify to himself; held so much power over them that spitting out vicious words in anger wasn’t even an option. Marco had done it once, in the weeks after Mario had left for Munich and had cancelled their third skype date in a row and it continued to be the biggest regret of his life, and that was even after Rio.

Mario had been so vastly and deeply unhappy during those weeks, pushing at everything that made Marco Marco, testing limits and boundaries in a way that had left Marco drained and tired, asking so much and appreciating efforts so little that Marco had been close to calling their team doctors because he just couldn’t imagine what had happened that Mario had turned from the best thing in his life to the worst. It had all culminated in a giant shouting match and then Mario had taken a swing at Marco and he reacted instinctively, blocking the hit and using his body weight to pin Mario down. Mario had grown still under him, all muscles locked up and quivering and Marco had whispered hard, angry orders in his ear. Mario had nodded and when Marco left him up and pushed him to turn him around he had been hard and flushed and so defiant and embarrassed that Marco decided then and there that talking wouldn’t solve anything. Pressing down on Mario’s erection and asking him if he got off on being pushed around instead did real wonders for them.

Mario told the juncture of Marco’s neck and shoulder about his transfer plans that night, after Marco had spent almost two hours exploring his limits. They had later on decided on safe words, on triggers and things that pleasured them; they had fucking code words they send it each when they either needed to be taken care of or if they needed to be in charge and a whole fucking color system that strangely enough included the color pink, but that night had been pure and raw desire paired with an intense need to not break each other apart. Mario had told him, fingers digging hard into Marco’s sides and Marco had answered him as a footballer first and as a boyfriend later, had swallowed down hurt and confusion and anger until he himself exploded long after Mario had left. 

They didn’t need it all the time, but it was probably the biggest factor in Marco’s life that kept him sane and somewhat mentally healthy. He suspected that it did more for Mario, was intensely intertwined with all the complicated fears and disgust about himself that Mario was hiding somewhere deep inside himself. It gave Marco something to cling to when Mario was beating himself up for weeks without letting up, endlessly feeling like a failure, calling Marco at all times just to hear something other than his inner voice. They had never really talked about it, but Marco had learned to navigate the minefield that Mario’s mind could be quite well by now, knew to give him what he needed when Mario had reached past the point where he could ask for help. It didn’t always work out, but it did often enough and to know that this vast world held someone that knew Marco just as he was, maybe understood him better than he did himself had always been comforting to Marco. 

“Ok,” Marco said, gripping Mario’s neck harder, thumb rubbing against the tendons there. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to be a good boy for me and lay down again and let me hold you close and we’ll get a few more hours of sleep ok?” Mario had twitched when Marco had called him his boy and Marco had to smile at that, knowing well about the pleasure it gave Mario to be called that name. It wasn’t something that Marco got off on when their roles were reversed, but he could easily call Mario that name. He had resisted anything more humiliating early on without knowing why but now that they had done this for years he was glad for it, knowing well that Mario wasn’t into humiliation either but had mistaken his own self-doubt for the need to be handled roughly. Being called a bitch or a slut or a whore did not give him what he really needed whenever he subbed but being called a good boy helped them both to reach the right mind set for this. 

For both of them it was all about pleasing, getting praised, sinking into each other and tuning the world outside away. Marco cradling Mario close, offering comfort, slipping one of his legs between Mario’s two to take some pressure off his groin, arms wrapped around Mario to constrict his movement was enough for now.

Marco woke Mario up half an hour before he had to be downstairs for breakfast by sucking his soft cock into his mouth. Mario woke up with a start but Marco was prepared for that and pressed down on his belly to keep him from twitching and aggravating his injury. “Keep still,” he told Mario who exhaled in a whoosh, relaxing underneath Marco again. Marco smiled at him and pressed a kiss against his hipbone before lowering himself down. “Green?” he said to be sure and Mario nodded immediately, whispering yes, hands coming up to stroke through his hair. Marco wrapped his arms around Mario, cupping his ass cheeks in both hands and gently massaging them while he lowered his mouth down on Mario’s cock which was filling steadily under the ministrations of Marco’s tongue. Marco loved opening Mario up like this, spreading his ass cheeks apart and rubbing a thumb against his hole while sucking him off, Mario’s gasps and moans getting progressively more high-pitched the longer Marco didn’t give him the release he craved for. 

It was an ongoing rule for them not to come without permission whenever they did this, so Marco didn’t bother reminding Mario. He continued massaging Mario’s asshole and kept the sucking up until he felt Mario giving up the need to come, relaxing into his touch instead. Mario knew of course that Marco wouldn’t let him come when he sucked him like this, gentle and teasing but without real heat. 

Marco let go off him when he had five more minutes left before he needed to be at breakfast, pressing a kiss against the head of Mario’s penis. He was aroused himself but kept his hips still and they looked at each other for a long moment. “My boy,” Marco said softly to him and Mario groaned, rubbing his dick against Marco’s cheek when his hips lifted up. Marco released his ass, instead rubbing across Mario’s chest, briefly scratching his nipples. Mario whined and ground down again and Marco hushed him. “You’re going to be my good boy and wait for me, will you?” he said and Mario nodded. “Can I touch you please?” he said and Marco pulled himself up, covering Mario’s naked body with his own clothed one. He wrapped his arms round him and kissed him, Mario relaxing underneath him again. “I have to go,” Marco said softly, stroking back Mario’s hair. Mario’s eyes were closed and he reached up once more to press a kiss against the corner of Marco’s mouth. “I’ll be back after dinner. You’re not touching yourself, understood? You’re going to wait for me.” “Yeah,” Mario said. “I love you,” Marco whispered into his ear and Mario smiled, pressing another kiss against his cheek. 

He saw the picture during lunch when he was checking his Instagram and fuck, Marco hated Mario, hated the way his body curved, the light illuminating his skin, one of his nipples on display, the blue tape wrapping down to his belly button…

It was for him of course, Marco knew that and he ached to get back to Mario and finish what they started this morning but they only had a 20-minute break after lunch and Marco wasn’t stupid enough to push that time limit and he also knew that he needed more time to take Mario to that relaxed place good sex got him. He ignored the ache inside him and instead sent Mario a heart emoji in whatsapp, finished his food and went on with his day. 

If anything, the last five years had taught him patience and trust in their ability to work around any obstacles and when Marco’s phone vibrated shortly after and he opened a text by Mario that said “missing you” he had to smile to himself. The next months wouldn’t be easy, but they were given this time even though an injured player usually didn’t stay with the squad and Marco was glad for whatever time the universe granted him with Mario. 

If the coming weeks were anything like the other times Mario had been injured they would test Marco’s patience and good-will and nerves quite a bit, because Mario needed to keep busy, would post constantly on Instagram, would attend events and fan-meetings and whatever else Bayern and his agent could think of and then, when Mario would reach a point where he couldn’t keep it up anymore, he would come to Dortmund and break down in Marco’s arms. Marco wasn’t an easy person to deal with whenever he was injured himself and he knew that he had tested Mario’s patience more than once in the past. But this was what it took, wasn’t it? Being there for each other, especially in the worst times. They weren’t married by law but Marco’s heart was locked up somewhere inside Mario, no matter how hard it got.


End file.
